Thursday, September 27, 2012

More than any other place I have ever
lived, Washington is a talking city, an environment where words are
simultaneously the most precious and the cheapest commodity. Words
serve as weapons of political warfare, badges of honor, markers of
identity and demonstrations of expertise. Language is employed to
build up and tear down. In a town like Washington, the exercise of
power means framing the conversation. The real game here is about
dictating the terms of the debate.

This is a very different relationship
to words than the one that I have experienced in the Quaker
tradition. For Friends, the primary goal of all words is to provide a
pathway into truth that goes beyond our narrow attempts to define and
control it. In this view, language is meant to direct us to the
inward reality that we all have access to, the truth that will guide
us and draw us into unity. In the Friends tradition, the spoken word
is meant to be a tool of liberation, freeing us from bondage to
falsehood. This truth that we encounter together sets us free and
challenges us to reexamine our narrow interests and old assumptions.

From this perspective, the way that we
often communicate here in Washington is questionable. If words are
intended to provide a doorway into the truth that lies beyond us,
what happens when we speak primarily to get our own way, so that our
own perspective prevails while others are discounted? What is the
spiritual effect of a culture that views language as a means to gain
power over others, rather than as a tool to produce transformed lives
that bless and surprise everyone?

If the United States' political climate
is any indication, communication that cajoles, confuses and coerces
leads us into division, alienation and violence. When our speech
becomes simply one more method of waging cultural warfare against
those we disagree with, we are left without means to find the common
ground that could resolve our conflicts. A society that has stopped
listening is not far from civil war.

I believe that God has called me to
engage with the wider world, to work for justice and reconciliation
in a culture that struggles to live within even basic forms of
civility, much less mutual understanding and love. Yet, at the same
time, I am convinced that it would be a mistake for me to accept the
wider culture's destructive norms of communication. What might it
look like to passionately participate in American society without
buying into its patterns of verbal combat and battle-hardened talking
points?

This question is alive for me as I work
among my friends in the movement for economic justice. All of us have
become accustomed to communicating in ways that are basically
violent. We instinctively defend ourselves from attack and ensure
that our point of view is spoken. We perceive (correctly) that if we
do not barge in and say our piece, others who are more forceful will
do all the talking.

This is hard for me, because I am used
to the Quaker mode of conversation in which long pauses are normal.
Stretches of silence provide time to reflect on what has been said,
and to listen for the voice of the Spirit in our midst. Among
Friends, there is an expectation that conversations provide an
opportunity to listen collectively, and this shared openness to God
and one another helps to develop trust and solidarity within the
group.

When I first became involved in the
Occupy movement, one of my great hopes was that I could help to
introduce Quaker practices of deep listening and collective
discernment into the movement. And during the first days of Occupy
DC, we had some remarkable successes. But it soon became apparent
that almost all of us were more familiar with the combative,
self-asserting style of communication that we have inherited from the
wider culture.

Even as we rise to challenge the
domination of the 1%, we seem stuck communicating in ways that keep
us fighting one another. It is hard to see how the 99% can ever be
free so long as we continue to use the modes of discourse that have
been thrust upon us by the wealthy elite and their corporations.

A real nonviolent revolution in this
country cannot be simply about economic indicators; we must transform
the very culture we live in, including the way we speak and make
decisions together. It is truly a beautiful thing when we really hear
one another and experience solidarity spreading throughout the room.
Nevertheless, this way of hearing is much more difficult to achieve
when we are all worried about whether we will get a chance to speak.

For my own part, I wrestle with how to
stay grounded in the Quaker mode of deep listening and trust while
still being able to speak to my friends who do not share this
practice. How can I engage in our shared business in a way that
invites the whole group into greater openness and depth? How can I
keep my own grounding in the practice of patient waiting on God, even
as all the cultural forces around me clamor for immediate reaction?
How can I share this practice of trusting attentiveness with my
friends and co-workers? What would it look like to hold open a space
for shared exploration in truth?

Monday, September 24, 2012

The kingdom of heaven is like a
mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the
smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest
of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and
make nests in its branches. - Matthew 13:31-32

My life is very small. Of course, from
my own perspective there is big stuff happening. Making friends,
engaging in ministry, marriage, and settling into life in a new city
far from my place of birth. I participate in a broader religious
community that is in a state of great transition, and I do my best to
be of service locally. I often imagine that I am an important figure
in history, and that I am making a beneficial impact on the world.

But when I take a step back and look at
my life from a broader perspective, my so-called achievements
basically disappear. As far as the world is concerned, I am just
another average person - a transplant from "fly-over country"
living in the nation's capital. I do my jobs. I volunteer at church
and in the community. I love my wife and stick up for my friends.
That is about it. Nothing particularly remarkable in the grand scheme
of things.

This can feel disappointing. Like many
of us, I was raised to believe that I was remarkable. I, too, could
be president - or an astronaut or best-selling author. I was raised
with the idea that, in many ways, life was about me. If I were not
the center of everything, I was at least an important supporting
actor in the grand drama of human history. I grew up with an implicit
understanding that my life was pivotal, and that I was destined to
make a noticeable impact on society.

As I grow older, though, I notice that
my ability to affect the world is far more limited than I thought. Is
"impact" measured by fame? The ability to influence large
groups of people? Relationships with the powerful? Access to great
wealth? Judging by any of these standards, I am not leading a very
impactful life.

Even by much more modest standards, my
life's importance is questionable. It is hard to gauge what practical
effect my ministry has on the lives of others, and my work for
economic justice often feels quixotic in the face of massive and
well-funded opposition. It is not always clear to me that, in the
grand scheme of things, my life makes much difference.

Waiting on God in stillness, I ask,
"Why have you called me to this work if I am just set up to
fail?" By way of response, the Holy Spirit comes over me and
shows me just how small I am, and just how big Christ is. His power
is over all. I feel in my body just
how perfect God's strength is made in my weakness. The Spirit
reminds me, once again, that life is not about me. The results of
God's leadings are not mine to judge. The question is, as always,
"was thee faithful?"

"Well, yes, Lord, I think so -
mostly. So why am I unable to see the fruit of my labor?"

And I remember Jesus. I see him hanging
from the cross, an utter failure in the eyes of the world. I see him
dying, leaving nothing behind of any apparent value. Just another
failed messiah.

But that is not the end of the story.
Like the mustard seed, Jesus' faithful "failure" allowed
the fullness of God's love, power and grace to be revealed. On the
day that Jesus died, the community of friends and disciples that he
had gathered was left completely bereft, hopeless. But Sunday came,
and that little Seed who had died became the Tree of Life in which
all of his friends were able to take refuge. That
which was sown in dishonor was raised in glory. Jesus was sown in
weakness, but now he
is raised in power, seated at the right hand of the Father.

In this, the Spirit lets me know that
the
true meaning and impact of my life is hidden in the depths of God.
One day, it will be revealed for all to see. For now, however, Jesus
sets before me a life that embraces smallness, weakness and apparent
failure in the service of love. It is a life that places obedience to
God before all else, including my own conceptions of success.

Have you experienced this "holy
smallness" that I am describing? How do you make sense of the
gap between your own expectations and the apparent failure that is so
common in this life? How is God teaching you to trust and to love,
even when everything feels out of control?

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Walk and talk and laugh with your
friends. But behind the scenes keep up the life of simple prayer and
inward worship. - Thomas Kelly, 1941

The majority of my life has been spent
in formation. My childhood, the time I spent in college, and the
three years I spent at seminary were all largely focused on shaping
who I would become and what I would do. Though I may have
accomplished some things during these years, and probably made an
impact on some people's lives, the first quarter-century of my life
was primarily oriented towards preparing me to become a full adult
member of society.

In my experience, adulthood came in
stages. Theoretically, we Americans are autonomous adults upon
reaching our eighteenth birthdays; yet, in reality, the process of
becoming a fully-formed member of adult society probably lasts from
the early teens until the mid-to-late twenties. Despite the letter of
the law that declared me an adult at age 18, I was probably not even
half-way through my adolescence at that point.

From infancy to around age twenty-five,
my parents, teachers and adult friends all put a lot of emphasis on
helping me to discover my latent gifts and passions. They did their
best to give me the skills I needed to function well in the adult
world. Even seminary was a part of this process, giving me the
background and tools I needed to be a well-formed adult Christian.
There was a lot I did not learn in Sunday School.

In the last several years, however,
something has shifted. The dynamic has changed. No longer am I
primarily in the business of being groomed and nurtured. Finally,
after decades of longing for it, I am an entry-level adult. For so
many years, my job had been to get educated and prepare for the
future, but now the future has arrived. Now it is time to put to good
use all of the formation that I have been privileged to receive for
the past quarter-century.

This transition is a wonderful one. For
my entire adolescence, I was chomping at the bit to do great things
in the world, to have a meaningful impact. I knew that I was in a
formative phase, but I wanted nothing more than to skip formation and
go straight into adult action! The time has come.

Yet, as delightful as this transition
is in many ways, this new phase of action carries its own unique set
of strains and challenges. The outward challenges are obvious:
Finding meaningful employment in a collapsed economy; meeting a
spouse and starting a family; managing household finances and
investing responsibly for the future. Not to mention all of the work
- paid or unpaid - that God calls me to in the wider world.

And these outward life changes have a
deep spiritual dimension, as well. What is the impact of moving from
a life that is primarily concerned with preparation to a new phase of
existence that is primarily concerned with action? What is the deeper
meaning of this shift from the "inward" to the "outward"?

For me, in practical terms, this
transition has resulted in the busiest life I have ever known. I have
so much to do every week, and the most important lesson I am learning
is how to exercise discernment in what I commit myself to, and how to
say "no" more frequently and effectively. It is precisely
at this stage in my life that disciplined prayer is becoming more
important than ever. If I am not intentional about setting aside time
each day to focus entirely on Christ, all the tasks and burdens of
this action-oriented life would threaten my equilibrium. It would be
easy to get so wrapped up in action that contemplation dries up
entirely.

If that happened, it would be a
disaster. Taking time for contemplation has higher stakes than ever
before. In this new phase of life, I have so much more capacity to do
good - or harm - than ever before. As my activity in the world
increases, it is all the more crucial that I remain grounded in the
Spirit of Truth.

As I continue to explore what it means
to live in this phase of heightened activity, I am holding a number
of queries for reflection: In my present phase of life, how do I
maintain the right balance between contemplation and action? What is
the relationship between the inward and the outward life? What steps
must I take to ensure that my activity is grounded in prayer, and
that my prayer is informed by Spirit-led action? What must I do to
maintain the singleness
of vision that Jesus teaches us is
so important for living in the Kingdom of God?

Monday, September 17, 2012

This week, Faith and I are out in
Wichita, Kansas visiting my family. Since I moved out East, Faith and
I have typically made a trip back to Kansas in the early summer and
then again for either Thanksgiving or Christmas. This year, however,
we are making the holiday trip early so that we can see my grandmother
who is visiting from Newberg, Oregon. She turns ninety this year, but
she has the energy and focus of a much younger person. I just hope
those longevity genes got passed along to me!

Though we are out of town now, for most
of the last month I have been able to stay put in DC. After a summer
of constant travel, it has been nice to settle into a routine of
work, home life and participation in my local communities. I feel
like I have made more human connections in the past year than in the
two that went before. This is due in large part to my involvement in
the Occupy movement, which introduced me to hundreds of wonderful
people and plugged me into the DC-area justice community.

Much of my activity this month has been
organizing with Occupy Our
Homes DC. We are partnering with two homeowners right now,
Deborah
Harris and Michael
Vanzant, both of whom are struggling to stay in their homes after
becoming disabled. Both Deborah and Michael have been pillars of
their communities, with Deborah working as an EMT/Paramedic with the
DC Fire Department and Michael serving Faith Temple Church - DC's
first African-American, LGBT-affirming church - as a pastor.

Since becoming disabled, each of them
has been forced into early retirement. Unfortunately, their
disability payments are far lower than their salary was. Even more
unfortunately, the banks - JP Morgan Chase and Bank of America -
showed no interest in working with either of them. As we have seen
time and again in this work, the banks are more interested in making
a little extra profit than they are in ensuring that good,
hard-working people can stay in the homes where they have lived for
decades.

As we move forward, Occupy Our Homes DC
is doing a lot of learning and growing. Our organization has only
been in existence since January, and much of our work has had to do
with developing the capacity to sustain long-term campaigns. Given
that our efforts are entirely on a volunteer basis, this is a great
challenge indeed. How can we expand our base and nurture the
communications, relationships and expertise that we will need to
truly challenge "business as usual"? As we labor slowly
through this process, I am very grateful for your prayers, words of
encouragement and support.

It has been a blessing to be
consistently present in DC this past month. I am feeling increasingly
grounded in all of the work that I do - including my grassroots
organizing with Occupy Our Homes, my ministry with Capitol
Hill Friends, and my employment with Friends
United Meeting. Being in town week in and week out has allowed me
to develop a somewhat regular routine, setting schedules for writing,
web development and coordination with co-workers around the world.
Working remotely has huge advantages, and with the help of web-based
tools I am feeling increasingly integrated into the "virtual
office" that I share with my colleagues in Richmond, Indiana;
Kisumu, Kenya; and throughout the worldwide community of Friends
United Meeting.

My complete job description with FUM
encompasses electronic communications, web development and social
media strategy. In these early months, however, my work is almost
entirely focused on doing web development. I have been putting a lot
of time into FUM's new website, which is scheduled for launch this
month. It never ceases to amaze me what a protracted process web
development is! Tasks that seem simple can often take hours to
complete. For a big-picture person like me, building websites is a
process of developing my own attention to detail.

Capitol Hill Friends continues to
gather for regular worship on Sunday evenings at the William Penn
House. Attendance has been very low this month, which is predictable
given the ebb and flow of the seasons. August is probably the worst
month out of the year for any group, as far as attendance is
concerned. Yet, at the same time we have been challenged by the loss
of several dedicated members of our community. Lily Rockwell, an
intern at the William Penn House this past year, left for graduate
school in mid-July. Over the course of the last year, she brought so
much quiet strength and depth to our fellowship, and it has been a
major blow to lose her. Just weeks later, we said goodbye to two
summer interns, Sammy and Ceress Sanders, who had been very active at
Capitol Hill Friends. In a group as small as ours, the absence of
these three is very keenly felt.

In the midst of all of this transition,
the core membership that remains at CHF has been considering how the
Lord might be leading us as we move forward. Faith, John Smallwood and I have been carrying
this group for the last two and a half years, and the burden is
becoming increasingly heavy. It has become increasingly clear that we
may need to change in order for us to be faithful as a community.

This past week, Faith and I met with
many of Capitol Hill Friends' regular attenders to gauge where people
were at in terms of their relationship with the group. During these
meetings, we considered several questions together, such as: What is
working well at Capitol Hill Friends? What has life, and what might
we consider dropping? Is Capitol Hill Friends a community where we
feel God calling us to commit ourselves, or is CHF still primarily an
"event" rather than a congregation?

As a result of our conversations, it
does seem like some of our attenders feel a deep connection with
Capitol Hill Friends, considering it their primary spiritual home.
Many others get a lot out of attending CHF, but consider other
congregations (whether Quaker or non-Quaker) to be their primary
community. At this stage, it does feel like there is a core group
emerging that desires to take responsibility for the life of our
fellowship, as well as a number of others who feel less committed but
who do want to participate on an occasional basis.

This feels hopeful for Faith and me.
Though we started Capitol Hill Friends on our own, it was never our
intention for the group to be simply an "event" that we
hosted. We are encouraged to see that others may be feeling called to
share the responsibilities of nurture, care and decision-making for
the community.

In the months ahead, there are
definitely some decisions to be made. There is a growing sense that
we probably need to change the format and timing of our meetings. We
also have continuing questions about who we are called to serve, and
how to do so. It has been less than three years since Faith and I
first invited Friends to join us for worship in the conference room
of the William Penn House, and Capitol Hill Friends is still in its
infancy. It feels like we are just at the beginning of the journey,
discovering who God is calling us to be together.

As we continue this process of
exploration, discernment and deepening in the way of Jesus, I am so
grateful for the prayers that our wider community offers up to God
for us. Please do not stop interceding on our behalf. We could never
sustain this work without the daily guidance, strengthening and
conviction of the Holy Spirit.

In the coming month, please continue to
pray for Capitol Hill Friends, Occupy Our Homes DC, and Friends
United Meeting. Pray that God's hand be on me, guiding and preparing
me so that I may be a faithful servant of the Lord Jesus Christ in
each of these communities where I serve.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Dear friends, do not believe every
spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God... -
1 John 4:1a

I do not think of myself as being
particularly nationalistic. Though I love my city, my region and my
fellow US citizens, I am suspicious of national pride. I do want the
nation in which I reside to be a model of justice and generosity for
the international community, and I can feel proud of the United
States when it demonstrates compassion, ingenuity and ideals worthy
of emulation. And it often does.

This kind of national pride seems
healthy to me. It is appropriate to appreciate the positive traits of
myself, my family and my wider communities, and I can appreciate the
many things that make America a good place to live. Self-esteem, in
right measure, is a good thing.

But there is a kind of pride that goes
beyond healthy self-esteem. There is pride that discounts the value
of others, that lifts itself up by tearing others down. This is the
kind of pride
that goes before a fall. On the individual level, it can lead to selfish behavior that ignores the needs and
concerns of others. On the international level, such pride can cost
millions of lives - through war, famine, preventable disease and
suppression of human rights.

Projected onto the world stage,
this pride often passes as "patriotism." Under the banner
of loving our country, we are encouraged to project all fear and
darkness outwards. The unknown "other" becomes the focus of
all of our hidden shame and anxiety. We begin to see ourselves as
innocent and heroic victims, assailed without cause by people and
nations that hate our way of life. In the United States, this form of
fear-drenched pride was especially prevalent in the years following
the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Our
government called us into a righteous "crusade" against an
externalized evil.

I would like to believe that I am
immune to such appeals. I was raised in a family with a very
developed critique of patriotism and Empire. From an early age, I
have been inoculated against the seductive battle cries and lies
that politicians habitually tell when a nation is gearing up for war.
Yet, despite my deep resistance to patriotic feeling, I must confess
that the attacks on the United States' embassies in North Africa and
the Arabian Peninsula have shaken me.

I was deeply affected by the news that
the US ambassador to Libya was murdered, and I recognized a strange
feeling emerging from somewhere deep inside. To my surprise, I
identified this feeling as the exact sort of patriotism that I have resisted for so long.

I think about what this patriotic
sensation feels like in my body. I experience a constriction in my
chest, a gut-level shock that someone would strike me
in Libya. Yes, me. Despite all my training, it feels like a
personal attack. The ambassador was not just an individual. He
represented me, my family, and all Americans. To strike him was to
strike all of us. Somehow the fact that the killing took place within
the embassy makes it even worse. In some strange way, I feel as if my
home has been broken into.

In addition to these feelings of
violation, I experience positive feelings, too. I feel drawn deep
into the community of American citizens. Somehow, we are all made one
in this event. Despite the terrible sensation of collective
violation, I feel another emotion, even more surprising: Euphoria.
This attack makes me feel strong, because it bonds me with 300
million others who are the object of this crime. Ironically, those
who wanted to tear America down by murdering its representative in
Libya have strengthened my own sense of being an American.

Shortly after learning of the death of
the American ambassador in Benghazi, I began to see photos from the
streets of Libya's capital, expressing the sorrow of ordinary
Libyans. It was a good reminder for
me that the attacks of a small group of extremists does not
necessarily represent the feelings of the people of Libya as a whole.
In the context of the intense
emotions I am feeling, these apologies extended by ordinary Libyans
mean a lot.

What am I experiencing when I am drawn
into this kind of collective mourning and euphoria? While I have
rarely experienced these feelings as part of a nation-state, I have
felt them regularly in religious life. Paul talks about how when
we are animated by the Spirit of Christ, we are drawn into one body.
Outside of the community of faith, I have also experienced this
sensation in mass social movements, particularly during the early
months of Occupy Wall Street and Occupy DC.

In moments like these - whether in the
context of the Church, broad social movements or the nation-state -
it is clear that human beings are made for connection. We are built
to be integrated into a whole that is greater than our individual
selves. In the Christian understanding, this integration takes place
on the "spiritual" plane. When groups of individuals are
united together, there is "spirit" involved. For the
Church, the spirit that unites us is the Holy Spirit of Jesus. But it
stands to reason that there are other spirits that draw people
together.

Here are some questions that I am chewing on: What is the spirit that animates
nationalism? What kind of spirit am I being drawn into when I feel
shared pain and solidarity with all Americans? What is at work when I
sense that an injury to one is an injury to all? How can I remain
aware of what spirit I am being caught up in at any given moment -
and how can I avoid being seduced by spirits that lead to
factionalism, hatred and violence?

Forgiveness is the heart of my faith.
Throughout the Bible, God reveals a consistent character - one that
is slow
to anger and abounding
in steadfast love. God repeatedly
forgives those who betray
him and cause
him anguish. In Jesus, I find the highest expression of God's
self-giving love and forgiveness. In the face of humanity's hatred,
cruelty and selfishness, Jesus suffers and dies to bring about
reconciliation between God and humanity, and among all members of the human
family.

But I find many barriers to this new
way of living. Suffering is real, and my natural reaction to
affliction is to fight or flee. When someone wounds me, the urge to
strike back or withdraw is almost irresistible. Despite all my
experiences of Christ's love and his suffering witness on the cross,
my first response is usually not very Christ-like.

If this is what is required, "who
then can be saved?" Jesus' response to unjust suffering is
so awesome; he demonstrates God's ultimate power in weakness. Unlike
me, Jesus knows to the depths of his being who he is, and whose
he is. Jesus has nothing to prove.

One of Jesus' greatest miracles is that
he does not allow his own righteousness and the injustice of his
suffering to distract him from the needs of others. Jesus did not
deserve what happened to him; he would have been totally justified in
defending himself. But instead, Jesus bore shame, taunting and
torture, blessing those who persecuted him. He knew that his oppressors needed mercy far more than he did. If
that is not power, I do not know what is.

My prayer today is that the living
presence of Jesus will guide me into forgiveness for those who wrong
me. Rather than succumbing to fight-or-flight mode, I pray for the
power of Christ within to shine through me and allow me to bear
suffering in a way that shows compassion for those who really need
it. I pray for the strength to take my eyes off of my own anguish and
to act with love and compassion towards those who hurt me. This seems impossible - but I know that I
can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

What is your experience of forgiveness?
To what extent does forgiveness depend on the repentance of the
wrongdoer? What is the meaning of forgiveness when another person
continues to behave in hurtful ways? Have you experienced unilateral
forgiveness as being life-giving and empowering? How have you sensed
the Holy Spirit within you, teaching you how to forgive?

Friday, September 07, 2012

Thus says the Lord God: Enough, O
princes of Israel! Put away violence and oppression, and do what is
just and right. Cease your evictions of my people, says the Lord God.
- Ezekiel 45:9

Yesterday, Occupy
Our Homes DC paid a visit to Bank of America's Home Loans Office
in the historic African-American U Street neighborhood. We
ralliedon
behalf of Michael Vanzant, pastor of Faith Temple Church, the
first LGBT-affirming, African American church in the District of
Columbia. For decades, Michael Vanzant has selflessly served others -
opening his home to those in need, leading Bible studies, and
shepherding a congregation that welcomes men and women who are often
excluded from fellowship in other churches. Since the 1980s, he has
been a pillar of his community.

During this time, Michael's home has
served as a center of community life. It has been a place of study,
prayer and hospitality for the stranger. His home is a refuge for for
those seeking a deeper life of faith. Unfortunately, that is not how
Bank of America sees it.

When Bank of America looks at a home,
they do not see a residence, a place of sanctuary and a center of
community. They see a property - an engine of percentage-based profit
- and if by evicting the current owner they can produce a few
percentage points more per year, they will do it. The human element
does not even enter into it.

When Michael Vanzant became disabled in
2008, he had trouble making his full mortgage payment and he
approached Bank of America for a loan modification. They flatly
denied him. For Bank of America, an
uninterrupted profit stream was more important than a disabled
pastor's home, and the stability of his whole community.

Our job at Occupy Our Homes is to
remind Bank of America that human lives are precious. We were not
created to be bought, sold and thrown out of our homes because of
circumstances beyond our control. Our mission is to help Bank of
America see that there is a cost when they violate the basic dignity
of individuals and families. When the banks intrude on the intimacy
of our homes just to make a little more profit, there will be a
response.

Bank of America is learning that when
they attack our communities, our families and our faith leaders, we
will no longer remain silent. Occupy Our Homes DC is part of a broad
and growing coalition of grassroots organizations across the United
States that is resisting the unrestrained greed and predatory lending
practices of financial institutions like Bank of America. Together,
we are insisting that the needs of our families, faith communities
and neighborhoods take precedence over the endless thirst for bigger
and bigger profits.

For me - and, I suspect, for members of
Faith Temple Church - I am discovering that we stand in a rich
biblical tradition of witness for economic justice. Those ancient
Hebrew prophets - Jeremiah, Isaiah, Ezekiel and so many others - are
coming alive with freshness and meaning.

Will you join with us in shining a
light on Bank of America's unjust lending practices? Will you stand
in solidarity with Michael Vanzant as he fights to stay in his
home and retire in dignity? How might God be calling you into the
work of the prophets - naming and revealing the predations of the
powerful, calling all of us into the Peaceable Kingdom where there is
enough for everyone when we are willing to share? Can you feel the
motion of righteous love within you?

Monday, September 03, 2012

My brothers and sisters, whenever
you face trials of any kind, consider it nothing but joy, because you
know that the testing of your faith produces endurance; and let
endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and
complete, lacking in nothing. - James 1:2-4

There is a simple lesson that I have
had to learn over and over again. The lesson is this: Suffering
really hurts. This statement is so obvious that it seems silly to
write it, yet it has been a hard truth for me to internalize. In my
experience, it is very easy to have romantic ideas about suffering that
bear little resemblance to the actual fact.

This is an important thing for me to get
straight, since the suffering of Jesus lies at the heart of my faith.
Out of love for us, Jesus endured the fullness of suffering and
death, revealing a doorway into redemption and unlimited life. His
resurrection is so radiant that it can be tempting ignore the reality
of the dreadful agony that preceded it.

Yet Jesus' life was deeply marked by anguish. At the beginning of his ministry, Jesus retreated to the
desert for 40 days, eating and drinking nothing during that whole
time. He
experienced the pain of starvation and prolonged solitude during
his lengthy sojourn in the wilderness. At the end of that period of
self-denial, Jesus had a breakthrough - a
triumphant encounter with the dark powers that sought to undermine
his mission. The Adversary believed that 40 days of starvation
and isolation would make Jesus more vulnerable to attack, but in fact
the experience of those days had only deepened his relationship with
the Father. Suffering had focused Jesus on that which was truly
important.

Throughout his ministry, Jesus endured
suffering. Crowds drove Jesus to the brink of exhaustion, pursuing
him from town to town, seeking miracles and healing. Ironically,
at the same time he faced a real sense of isolation from his closest friends,
who
rarely seemed to understand who Jesus really was and what he was
sent to do. Some of Jesus' greatest trials came the night of his
arrest, when he
felt abandoned by his disciples who did not have the stamina to
stay awake with him while he prayed for strength and
guidance.

I find it easier to face my own measure
of darkness when I remember what Jesus has endured. He reminds me
that suffering is not an aberration to be avoided, but rather an
essential part of my journey as his disciple. Just as Jesus'
crucifixion served as a doorway to the resurrection, the little
trials that I face can provide a path to greater maturity and rootedness in the Rock of Life. Through daily baptisms of adversity,
Jesus invites me into the humble joy of his unlimited life.

A great mystery that Jesus reveals to
us is that this radiant life emerges not from outward victory, but
from patient endurance in suffering. The height of glory is found in
our lowest moments. It is only when a seed dies that it can sprout
into new life and bear fruit. It is by embracing suffering that we
come to know true peace.

How have you experienced the refining
power of suffering in your own life? Where have you seen God at work
in the difficulties that face your family, community, city or nation?
How have you experienced the reality of the cross, and of the
resurrection?